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Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Weird Wednesday: My Fitness Pal

I’ve been trying to lose 10 pounds for about two years
now. Recently, I discovered that to
legitimately use the word “trying” requires some sort of actual effort. Apparently, the mental work of setting the
goal and feeling health conscious does not qualify as “trying” no matter how
many glasses of wine you consume while contemplating the goal. There is even some scientific evidence that
pounds and inches will not melt away from mentally wishing it so.

Who knew?

Anyway, I can now put this whole trying conversation behind
me because I am well into the process of “losing” 10 pounds. And, yes, you guessed it -- there’s an app for
that.

In fact, there is a quite popular app for that called “MyFitness Pal.” It’s easy to use and
offers a wealth of information about foods, exercise and how all that relates
to you and your body. This past weekend,
for instance, the kids wanted lunch at Chipotle where I usually crave the
chicken burrito that tops out at about 1,000 calories, almost half of what I’m
allowed per day. Between the door and
the counter, I discovered that the Crispy Chicken Tacos are only 465
calories and they made a nice lunch.

Did I mention that it’s easy to use? In fact, it’s so easy to use that it can make
you a bit obsessive. Those of us who
remember when computers were only connected to the wall socket (we used bear skins
to stay warm in the day) probably remember when Quicken came out years
ago. I lived in California’s Silicon
Valley at the time and I knew people who were losing sleep because they were
staying up all night obsessing about their finances – simply because they could. Facebook has the same effect in the connected
world. These tools turn seemingly
straightforward aspects of your life into a 3D IMAX screen of endless data and
analysis – all about you.

It’s like Narcissus died gazing into a smartphone rather
than a pool of water. (You’ve now had
your cultural moment here on When Dad Cooks and we’ll return you to our
regularly scheduled gonzo food rant.)

Once upon a time, you had to first live a life interesting
enough for an autobiography, write the autobiography and then find a publisher
who agreed that people might care.
Today, any mundane detail of your life can be turned into an
autobiography with a few taps of a screen.

“Want to see what I ate yesterday?” I asked BMW. She was making pancakes at the time.

“No,” she replied.

“But, it’s right here," I said. "Look, the fish was only a couple hundred calories.”

“That’s nice dear.”

“Which doesn’t even count since I burned 385 calories on the
treadmill.”

“Uh huh.”

I picked up the bottle of maple syrup we would have with the
pancakes and scanned the bar code. Up
popped all the information you would want to know about something you might put
in your body.

“Whoa,” I said. “This
gets me close to the amount of sugar I need for the entire day.”

“Have some pancakes with it," BMW said. "They’re multi-grain with high fiber.”

I noted that in my automated food diary.

“Maybe we can take a walk after breakfast,” I suggested,
tapping away at the screen. “Should we
do a basic walk at 3 miles per hour, a brisk walk at 3.5 miles per hour or a
very brisk one at 4 miles per hour? And
how long should we go, that will determine total calories burned.”

“It depends,” BMW said.

“On what?”

“On how fast you can run.”

“I thought we would walk.
Look, there’s still plenty of calories burned,” I pointed out helpfully.

“You’re going to run because if you don’t get away from me
with that phone I’ll be chasing you with this spatula.”

I must say that restaurants posting nutrituional information is quite helpful. The Missus and I were in a Buffalo Wing Wings recently, where they've started printing the calories right on the menu. You'd think, "Hey, chicken must be reasonably good for you, right?" You'd be wrong -- other than the salad (which we had) there's almost NOTHING on their menu south of 1,000 calories.

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About Me

My mother believed that anything worth eating was also worth frying. Mom's vegetable repertoire was limited. I was about 30, shopping with my California-raised bride, when I discovered that spinach was not naturally a bunch of green yuck that oozed out of a can.
Food and cooking is my hobby, my passion and a scholarly interest. It is also at the center of our family life.
Of course, Dad's cooking presents some unique hazards that are just built into the male DNA. It is said that men will only do things that are either dirty or dangerous and that pretty much describes the kitchen when I am in my frenzy. Early in our marriage, my wife would enter the kitchen and say some things that, well, can't be shared in a family-oriented blog, but you can easily find those words in other corners of the Internet. Over time, though, she discovered that there was a direct correlation between the level of utter destruction and the quality of the meal. These days, she comes into the kitchen, surveys the debris and says, "Oh, this is going to be good."